Eve Rounds

obvious title

i walk
for a long while
i’ve been a runner
hiker biker
now
a special occasion stroll
a brisk paced too many beers too many burgers
a straight forward errand

this evening
i just walk

i approach
two older women one dog on a too slacked leash
the older proudly wears her thinning hair tight beneath a sport band
“oooh some oreos and ice cream”
i laugh
such a secret coincidence
and while it stings it sings
her poodle shuffles suspiciously at me
her friend doesn’t notice me nor does she acknowledge the delicious snack suggestion

i walk
choosing the direction of darkness
the sky offers more interest
the beach offers more space
and i never mind getting caught
in the rain
it always stops
eventually
and then we’re all
nourished and new

i walk
until the sand overtakes the pavement
sliding out of my flip fops and rolling up my jeans i forge ahead towards the water
fucking cold.
un fucking necessary.

i walk
the smell of cigarette smoke in open air
takes me hostage
transports me to those island nights
the quiet breeze surrounding
the noise within shrieking
wishing wishing wishing
you were not beside me
i extract myself by concocting a new scenario
one of murder and a complicated body disposal
one of the love of my life to be
vengeance is stagnant
love is movement

i walk
until a careful collapse
rump first
then all of me
not a care for my hair
directly on the sand
i pull up my shirt
ever so slightly
just enough
to feel the sand snuggle into the small of my back

i watch
the clouds seem to plane hop
hitching rides to bigger storms
each arrival exposing more of the expanse above
just for me
i hear
the volleyball game of fully clothed men
language unknown yet such an apparent sense of camaraderie
uplifting
i lay
for a long while
i sit
slightly disoriented
i stand
shake out my hair
unroll my jeans

i walk
sliding back into my flip flops
eventually
my face must look so solemn
based on the faces that look my way
but it’s just my face
having softened on my skull

as i walk
the sand pools into the remaining cuff of my jeans
my thoughts dissolve without the fruition of thunder
suddenly i’m home

i don’t even know

how long it’s been. haven’t been counting days haven’t counted backwards on the calendar. haven’t bothered to reread my own words. haven’t been missing you

the five senses

your blue eyes and crooked lippy smile which i inherited that tiny soft bristle brush for your basically bald head the white corvette a campfire cards

love

what did falling in love feel like to you actual falling a new winter sweater a blood flutter did you question its science or were you

noise

sometimes the wind the waves muffle and drown my memories sometimes the wind the waves magnify and amplify the sound of your voice and clearing

the theatre

this is  a silent film flickering  catching  starting over emptiness surrounding such a blinding contrast ahead of us shared stories  captured images disconnected nonsensical we

Twins

It isn’t easy being a twin.   Others considered us as one two-part person,  while our parents saw,  in our conspiring, four or more.